


Puppy Love

by zimriya



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Puppy Harry, The orange from the VMAs is to blame for all of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be fair, Louis isn’t really sure why he’s all that surprised. There are worse things to have happen, what with the whole multi-million dollar franchise and being under constant and unrelenting scrutiny by the media. And while waking up with a curly haired, green eyed puppy sprawled across his chest is not what he'd expecting, per se, it’s not horrible. Certainly Louis would much prefer to be waking up with the curly haired, green eyed, <i>human-shaped</i> love of his life, but he’ll take it;  he’d always sort of assumed there was some kind of magical other universe out there, anyway. </p><p>Or, Harry gets turned into a puppy, and Louis deals with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

> Set on Liam’s birthday, because I am a cruel person and HAPPY TWENTIETH LIAM PAYNE. References to the VMAs, and the Midnight Memories Album Shoot....also the album in general. 
> 
> Betaed by the ever lovely Marta, britpicked by my dear Jade, and all other mistakes are my own.
> 
> All events within are fictional, and are by no way meant to imply anything about the boys behavior in real life. Enjoy!

**Puppy Love**

\--

The first thing Louis thinks, upon waking up with what appears to be a puppy sprawled across his chest, is that there are probably worse things to have happen. Well, no. The first thing Louis thinks is more along the lines of, “hooray; Hogwarts is real!” but thats to be expected--he’s pretty sure you’re not a real Englishman if you didn’t have a Hogwarts-is-real phase. So, the _second_ thing Louis thinks, is that it could be worse.

The third thing, of course, is that due to the apparent realness of magical animal transformations, obviously he needs to travel back in time to the moment when he had the audacity to say, ‘I can’t imagine a more dramatic life change,’ and punch himself in the face. Because, yes, the popstar fame was rather dramatic, and, yes, the love-of-his-life-at-age-19 thing was _equally_ dramatic, but all in all he finds that neither of those things compare to waking up with a Harry Styles that is several feet too small and quite a bit furrier.

“Oh my God,” Louis says. “You--Haz--Har-- _Harry_?” His voice is much higher than he’d intended, but that’s within reason, because the puppy sitting on his chest wagging its tail is Harry. It has to be; Louis didn’t go to sleep with anyone else last night, and unless Harry’s latest prank streak features sneaking baby animals that bear a striking resemblance to himself into the bedroom, Louis’ bedmate is Harry Styles. And Harry Styles is, apparently, now a puppy. Probably a poodle-labrador mix, going by the curls, tongue, eyes, and enormous paws. Louis would laugh, if it wasn’t for the fact that those same paws are currently pressed like twin chocolate quotation marks around the _It Is What It Is_ on his chest.

He debates rolling back over and going to sleep, but apparently Harry-as-a-dog is as attuned to his every movement as Harry-as-a-human (and this is definitely going to be confusing; the first thing he’s doing after he’s had tea and called the rest of the boys is figuring out a better way of differentiating), because his mouth falls shut and he lets out a pitiful whine.

When that doesn’t do more than make Louis raise an eyebrow, he stops panting to tilt his head slightly to the left.

Something in Louis’ chest clenches. “Oh my God,” he repeats. “You’re a dog.”

Harry’s mouth falls open again. Probably he’s just pleased that Louis can even recognize him as a dog, which says more about his priorities than anything else.

“Right,” Louis continues. “Right, okay, dog, _dog_ \--” He’s not quite sure what his face is doing right now, but whatever it is it’s enough to make Harry grin (and if there was any doubt in Louis’ mind that it was in fact him, there isn’t any now, because no one else can match that grin) and lick a wet stripe across Louis’ cheek. Normally that would be hot. Right now, it mostly serves to wake Louis the fuck up.

“You’re a dog,” he says again, sitting up sharply. Harry goes sliding down his chest a little with a disgruntled look to land in his lap, ears flopping around his face, but his tail doesn’t stop wagging. Louis tries very hard not to think about any of it. “Why are you a dog?” he continues, muttering to himself. “Is it--did you _take_ something--was it the bloody orange from the VMAs--?”

He dumps Harry onto the bed and pads around the room searching for clean clothes and anything else to distract him from the problem at hand. “But then, why would it take so long to affect you…?” He trails off, tugging on a pair of boxers that _could_ be his and some trackie bottoms. “Unless you saved one or something and ate it later--” He pauses, eyes narrowed, and turns to glare down at Harry.

Harry refuses to look at him, and instead scrambles off of the bed. Louis narrows his eyes even more. “Oh, you didn’t,” he says. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Harry-as-a-dog is somehow clumsier than Harry-as-a-human, which Louis hadn’t actually thought was possible, so he ends up in a pile of awkward limbs. But he very quickly rights himself, refuses to answer Louis’ question, and instead heads for the bathroom door.

“You can’t use the toilet,” Louis tells him.

Harry makes an affronted little noise in the back of his throat; Louis very quietly turns his eyes upwards in an attempt to get his face back under control.

“No, don’t look at me like that,” he continues, to their ceiling. “First of all, dogs don’t use toilets. Second of all, you’re tiny. You’d probably fall in and drown.”

Harry is silent for longer than Louis had been expecting, so he risks a glance away from the matte white of the walls. This turns out to be a terrible idea, because when he does so, it’s to find Harry seated at the foot of the bed with his ears pricked and his tail wagging. Which is just--it just isn’t _fair_ that Harry-as-a-dog has Louis just as wrapped around his little finger (paw?) as Harry-as-a-human. In fact, never mind a few stupid comments, the first thing Louis is doing is going back to the exact moment he fell in love with Harry Bleeding Styles and then punching himself in the face. Because goddammit if doing so hasn’t made his life unreasonably difficult.

“You are a menace,” he tells Harry, but he goes to open the door to the bathroom anyway.

And then, of course, he ends up spending the next few minutes very frantically fishing him out of the toilet bowl while on the phone with Liam.

\--

“Wait, you did what?” says Liam, when he’s able to get a word in edgewise. “Also, it's like three in the morning and we’ve got a shoot, tomorrow?”

Louis is almost proud of him; he’s not sure if the Liam Payne of 2010 would have been able to speak, let alone get Louis to stop speaking. At least, not the Louis Tomlinson of 2010. (God, he was awful.)

Liam appears to be waiting for an answer, so Louis pauses in cooing at Harry. “Yes, thank you, I know that, Liam,” he says. “Which is exactly why I called you. We can’t do the bloody shoot with Harry as a puppy.” He pauses. “And what makes you think this is my fault?”

Even Harry stops looking sorry for himself long enough to stare disapprovingly at Louis.

“Do not look at me like that!” Louis snaps, because Harry currently being a puppy is not his fault. In fact, had Louis been aware that the orange in question was found in a random lift, he wouldn’t have let Harry eat it in the first place. So obviously he’s not in the wrong here, and not at all deserving of being looked at like that.

“I’m not looking at you like that--you can’t even see me--I’m on the phone--?” Liam mumbles.

He probably intends to be addressing Louis, but it comes off as talking to himself, because Louis just keeps talking. “I am not the one who fell into the toilet, Harold!”

“Um,” says Liam.

Harry visibly deflates, flopping down across Louis’ lap with a giant huff. The first thing Louis’d done upon fishing him out of the toilet was shove him into the shower for a thorough scrubbing, so he doesn’t hesitate to run his fingers through the curl of fur at his neck. Harry’s ridiculously soft, ridiculously cuddly, and entirely too cute for his own good. It’s fucking unfair that Louis has to deal with this on his own.

“It is fucking unfair that I have to deal with this on my own,” Louis tells Liam. “You should see him, Payno. He’s like a giant bundle of curls and limbs.”

Liam is quiet for a moment. “That’s not all that different from what he’s normally like, Lou,” he says, finally. “To be fair.”

Louis waves the hand not buried in Harry’s scruff in the air. “Whatever,” he says. “The point is Harry-as-a-dog is just as unfairly attractive as Harry-as-a-human.” He pauses. “Wait, hang on, that came out wrong.”

“Um.”

“Harry-as-a-dog--which, Dog-Harry? Puppy-Harry? The-love-of-my-life-who-is-now-a-puppy?”

“I,” says Liam. “What are you asking me?”

Louis picks up the abandoned towel and begins rubbing at Harry’s fur again. “I can’t keep calling him Harry-as-a-dog, Liam,” he says, adopting a similar tone to the one he uses with his sisters. “It’s bloody confusing.”

Liam lets that sink in. “Okay,” he says, slowly.

“And, obviously, ‘The-love-of-my-life-who-is-now-a-puppy’ is both a mouthful and only applicable to me,” Louis continues.

Liam repeats the word ‘applicable,’ under his breath and then mutters something about Louis and Harry adopting each other’s speech patterns.

Louis ignores him. “But I’m hesitant to just call him Puppy-Harry. Mostly because the reason that he fell into the toilet was that he had to use it, and I can’t be seen walking about London with a conveniently curly-haired puppy named Harry.”

“You can’t be seen walking around London with Harry period,” points out Liam, ever sensible.

Louis blinks. “True,” he says. “That is a good point.” He frowns. “I guess I’m pretty much stuck here, actually, until we get this whole thing sorted out; a puppy isn’t exactly hard to miss.”

It’s not that much of a hassle, to be fair, since Louis’d pretty much planned on spending the next few days attached to Harry’s hip, anyway. Not that they hadn’t been living out of each other’s pockets for the entire tour, but it was always nice to have time to themselves. Although--

“This wasn’t your plan all along, was it?” he says, addressing Harry directly. “This isn’t some sort of epic ploy to get my undying attention for the rest of the break, is it?” He has to manhandle him a bit so that he can find his eyes, but eventually he manages to frown down at him.

Harry seems to shrink in his arms, and whines high in his throat.

“Don’t be mean, Tommo,” says Liam, suddenly; Louis’d forgotten he was on the phone. “I’m sure if Harry wanted to get your attention, turning himself into a puppy would be the last thing he’d think of.”

Harry makes an agreeable noise, but Louis just scoffs.

“Please,” he says. “Don’t pretend to understand the intricacies of our relationship, Liam.”

Liam is silent for a moment. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the band who doesn’t understand the intricacies of your relationship, Lou,” he says, eventually.

Louis opens his mouth, thinks about that, and closes it. “Oh, bugger off,” he says. “You’re just jealous.”

“Yes,” agrees Liam. “That’s exactly it. The reason I’d prefer the two of you not practically have sex in front of me is because I’m jealous.”

Harry makes an odd rumbling noise in response, and has the audacity to squirm around in Louis’ lap so that he can press his nose into his neck. Louis takes it in stride and just keeps stroking at the nape of his neck. “I thought so,” he says. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

“Louis,” starts Liam.

“Don’t you ‘Louis’ me,” interrupts Louis. “I have two other lads to bother; I do not _need_ you, Liam.”

“Right,” says Liam. “Call me when Zayn’s finished laughing at you.”

“I--Zayn wouldn’t dare--” Louis protests, but Liam’s hung up. “Bastard,” Louis mutters, ears flushed.

Harry huffs against his neck.

Louis wraps his arms around him in a hug. “Thank you, Hazza,” he says. “I knew there was a reason I loved you best.”

Harry makes a disgruntled noise, like he always does when Louis mentions those three words in any way that’s not entirely serious, and licks him across his cheek.

Louis’ heart gives a little thump. “Ugh, Harold,” he says, drawing out the nickname. “There are laws against that now!”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confusion evident on his face.

Louis fights a smile. “Don’t pretend you don’t know there are entire blogs dedicated to your quote blow job lips unquote.”

Harry states back at him unblinking, before make a disgruntled face; his nose scrunches up and his ears flatten against his skull; Louis gives up on the smile.

“God, I love you,” he says, blindly, and ignores the way Harry’s tail goes thumping against his leg in favor of calling Zayn.

\--

Zayn does in fact laugh at him. Louis isn't sure whether he should be glad Zayn actually bothered to answer the phone at three in the morning, or angry about the laughing.

“If you are quite finished, Malik,” he starts to say, in his poshest voice possible, which only serves to make Zayn laugh harder.

After a few moments, he shows no signs of stopping, so Louis very quietly hits the end call button and lowers the iPhone into his lap.

“Right,” he says. He looks at Harry. “Liam doesn’t have to know.”

\--

“So you know that orange that Harry found in a lift and ate at the VMAs?” Louis says, when Liam picks up the phone again.

“Zayn laughed at you, didn’t he?” says Liam.

“Yeah, well, it turns out the moral of this story is that we don’t eat random pieces of fruit we find in lifts at award shows,” Louis continues, ignoring him. “Because otherwise we get turned into puppies.”

“I told you so,” says Liam. “Wait what?”

“I realized I probably should have led with that,” Louis says, still ignoring him. “But to be fair I was a little preoccupied with the fact that Harry fell into a toilet.”

“I,” says Liam. “The orange?”

“I know,” says Louis. He shoots Harry another disappointed look. “And he even offered a piece to Rihanna. We are lucky that she said no, Liam.”

Harry visibly droops in his lap, and Louis very much does not start stroking him behind his ears as he keeps talking.

“Also, Happy Birthday--how does it feel to be no longer a teenager and still not be able to drink in the US?”

“I will hang up on you,” says Liam.

Louis scoffs. “No you won’t,” he says, tightening his grip on Harry, who snuffles into his neck and probably would be purring if he was a cat. “I’d have to call Niall, then, and we all know that wouldn’t end well.”

Liam appears to be thinking that over. “Oh God,” he settles for.

“Tumblr would never be the same,” agrees Louis. He’s not sure what exactly Niall would do with faced with the adorableness that is Harry-as-a-dog, but he’s relatively certain it includes costumes, food, and a lot of photos.

“Yeah,” says Liam, voice slow. “Yeah--hey, Zayn’s texting me.”

Louis blinks. “And?”

Liam sounds smug. “I told you so,” he says, again.

Louis rolls his eyes. “The only reason I’m letting you get away with that is because it’s your birthday,” he tells Liam.

Liam sighs. “Happy Birthday to me,” he says, sadly, over the phone. “Do you want me to come over?”

“At three in the morning?” Louis starts to say, giving Harry an absent-minded little squeeze, but he never gets to, because all of a sudden Harry is out of his lap and down the stairs towards, presumably, their door.

“Tommo?”

Louis blinks. “Um,” he says.

From downstairs, he can hear Harry begin to make more of those terrible whining noises, and the clacking of his nails as he goes pacing back and forth on the wooden floors.

“Hazza?”

There’s a long drawn out whine, more desperate now.

With a sinking feeling, Louis tries to remember if Harry’d actually gotten around to relieving himself before he’d decided to go swimming in the toilet bowl.

“Oh God, Liam,” he says, scrambling to his feet and stumbling after Harry. “He actually does have to take a piss and I can’t take him outside because it’ll be all over the news and then what? Help!”

“Louis, breathe,” says Liam. “It’s still dark out, yeah? I’m sure you could--”

“I don’t even have a leash--don’t you look at me that way you’re a bloody dog, Harold. You can assure me all you want that you won’t run off but who knows what’ll happen if you see a squirrel or something and can you imagine the earful I’d get if I fucking lost you--”

“Louis,” says Liam, cutting him off. “What are your other options?”

“I really don’t have many options besides letting him pee in the sink, Liam,” Louis hisses, reaching the bottom of the stairs and trying his best to look sympathetic at Harry, who gives him a look that says just how unacceptable that idea is.

“Um, well, it’s got to be temporary, right?” Liam says. “Like, maybe just have him pee in the sink this one time and--”

“If looks could kill, you’d be dead where you stand,” Louis interrupts. “And you haven’t even been twenty for more than three hours.” He shakes his head. “So sad, Liam. So sad.”

“If looks could kill I’d have been dead within the first hour of meeting you,” Liam says, dryly, and Louis doesn’t even flinch.

“Fuck off,” he says. “You loved me within the first hour of meeting me.”

Liam snorts. “I dunno, mate,” he says. “I’m still not sure if I love you _now_.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Say that to me after we haven’t written almost an entire album together and we’ll talk.”

Harry, who’d spent most of the conversation attempting to look dignified enough so as to _not_ warrant pissing in their sink, immediately perks up his ears and shoots Louis a positively venomous look.

“What?”

Harry’s little head swings around with far more drama than he ever had as a human.

“Oh, okay fine. Part of an album,” Louis corrects. “We can’t forget your stunning contribution, Harold. Critics all around the world will surely be weeping at the wonder that is ‘we’re on fire, we are on fire.’”

Harry doesn’t even bat an eyelash, but Louis isn’t sure if that’s because he’s unamused, or if he’s a dog and dogs just don’t blink.

“You cried for fifteen minutes when you heard Happily,” Liam points out, loud enough that Harry’s dog-hearing picks it up, and Louis very abruptly goes pink.

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that, Liam,” he says, stepping quickly forward and reaching to pick Harry up with one hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go help the love of my life piss in a sink. Ta.” He clicks off the phone with slightly more vindiction than probably necessary, and proceeds to drag the less than pleased Harry into the kitchen to do just that.

\--

Harry isn’t speaking to Louis. Harry can’t speak to Louis, though, so that’s not unreasonable. Mostly, it’s the fact that he’s decided to go sulk in their bathroom that Louis finds more than a little overdramatic.

“Hazza,” he says, from outside their bathroom door. “I’m not sure how I feel about this newfound interest in toilet bowl swimming--”

Harry makes a scoffing noise through the door at that, and Louis reaches up to rub as his temples. He’s not sure why he even did Harry the courtesy of closing the door behind him in the first place.

“--but I’m sure we can use our considerable combined wealth in order to get you some swimming lessons when you’re not walking around on four legs and are instead stumbling around on two.”

Harry makes another disgruntled noise, before he practically yelps, and Louis gives up all pretense of giving him privacy and shoves the door open.

“Harry--” Louis starts to say, before what he’s looking at catches up with him, and he blinks. “Why are you in the bathtub?”

Harry shoots him a particularly poisonous look, and turns around to glare at their bathroom wall.

“I mean,” Louis continues, awkwardly, to cover the silence. “Are you--are you alright?”

Harry doesn’t even look at him, which normally wouldn’t bother Louis all that much, but it’s three in the morning and the love of his life is currently a labradoodle puppy and _not speaking to him_ , so he figures he’s entirely justified in picking up his phone to dial Liam.

“This is all your fault,” Louis says, when the phone stops ringing. “In fact, when all this is said and done I am going to make you wish the buzzcut was the worst thing you ever did to your hair.”

“Erm,” says Sophia. “Hi?”

Louis nearly drops the phone. “Oh God, Sophia, sorry,” he sputters out. From inside the bathroom, Harry makes a noise that sounds like it could be the puppy equivalent of laughing. “Shut up, Harold,” Louis shouts, and regrets it instantly because maybe Harry wasn’t laughing so much as deciding to forgive Louis for making him piss in a sink.

“I’m going to just--give you to Liam,” says Sophia, bless her, and then Liam’s voice comes back on, sounding even more sleep muffled.

“Lou?” he says.

“Sorry, Liam, really,” Louis says, in a rush. “I just--you’re still the reasonable one, yeah?”

“Um,” says Liam. “Listen, Lou, do you want me to come over?”

“What if it doesn’t wear off,” Louis mutters. “I mean, we’ve got what, six hours till we have to be all pretty for the album shoot, yeah?”

“Yes,” Liam agrees, slowly. “Louis--”

“And like, I don’t even know if it was the orange that did it, Liam, like what if it’s not that--what if--” He lowers his voice. “ _What if he never turns back_?”

“Louis--”

“What if he’s stuck like this, Liam?” Louis is aware that he’s gotten somewhat shrieky in the past few minutes, but he can’t seem to get his voice to _stop_. “What if this is the end? Screw playing out stadiums until we’re old and gray and everyone _wishes_ we’d made like the Beatles and gotten assassinated--One Direction is coming to an end because the lead singer got turned into a bleeding _puppy_!”

“Okay, stop,” says Liam, when Louis is busy gulping in air. “First of all, Harry isn’t the lead singer; you of all people should know that.”

Louis waves a hand in the air, realizes Liam can’t see him, and scoffs. “Tell that the to the American Media,” he says.

“Second,” says Liam, ignoring him. “There’s no reason for this spell thing not to wear off.”

“Right,” Louis says. “Right, okay.” He swallows. “You sure?”

“Positive,” says Liam, “Look, it’s like four in the morning, Tommo, why don’t you and Harry go back to sleep, and if he’s not normal by breakfast, call me and we’ll think of something.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Louis tells him, sincere. “I--what would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” says Liam. “Don’t call me till the sun is up, kay?”

\--

Louis wakes up briefly when the sun rises to Harry crawling into bed with him and circling on his chest. “Harry?” he says, voice blurry.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just licks him once on the nose, before practically deflating on top of him.

Louis barely managed to type out a shaky, _he’s still a dog_ , into a group text and send it to the boys, before he’s back asleep.

\--

Zayn shows up in their doorway sometime after breakfast, dressed inconspicuously with a beanie pulled down over his ears and oversized hair, shutting the door behind him with a barely there click. Louis doesn’t look up from where he’s been making himself acquainted with their living room ceiling. He’s got Harry’s phone open to twitter, [movie promo tweet](https://twitter.com/Harry_Styles/status/372995235443666944) composed, but he’s not been able to make himself hit send without Harry’s permission. Despite waking up curled together, Harry’s still not forgiven him for the sink incident, so he’s hiding somewhere upstairs.

Louis sighs. “Harry,” he says, loud enough that his voice carries. “Come down here and tell me if this sounds ridiculous enough to be you.”

He gets nothing for his time, and Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Louis sets the phone down on his stomach.

Zayn puts up his arms. “Nothing,” he says. He steps around so that he can read what Louis’ typed. “I think it sounds ridiculous enough to be you, Haz.”

At the sound of Zayn’s voice, Harry comes hurtling down the stairs, skidding to a stop at Zayn’s feet with his tail wagging and tongue hanging out.

“And now he comes,” says Louis. He manages to turn his head enough so that he can watch Harry weave in and out of Zayn’s legs like the devil child he is.

“Erm,” says Zayn, uncertain, at the over enthusiastic greeting. He looks remarkably awake for quarter past nine in the morning. “Hi?” He bends down a little to pat at Harry’s head awkwardly, and gets a faceful of tongue instead.

“Don’t worry,” Louis tells him, turning to look back up at their lights. “You are not suddenly his favorite--”

Zayn mutters something that sound suspiciously like ‘you’d have to have never even _existed_ for me to be his favorite, Lou,’ but Louis pretends he doesn’t hear, because that would give him butterflies, which Louis absolutely does not have time for.

“It’s just he’s currently ignoring me, and you happen to be second best at giving cuddles,” Louis finishes, sighing and turning back to face the two of them.

Harry has crawled up into Zayn’s lap and is licking him across the chin gleefully, but he pauses to shoot Louis a betrayed look.

“Right,” Louis says.

Zayn looks up from where he’s got Harry bundled up in his arms guiltily. “Um,” he says.

Louis just waves a hand at him and turns back towards the lights. “Don’t mind him,” he says. “He’s only really doing it for my benefit, since I’m trying to wipe the last few hours of my life from my mind.”

Zayn opens and closes his mouth, before coming over and dumping Harry onto Louis’ lap. “I’m not even going to ask,” he says, curling up on the sofa next to them, and draping his own socked feet across Louis’ lap as well.

Harry makes a startled noise, and scrambles up Louis chest until they’re nose to nose again. “Good plan,” Louis tells the room at large. He tilts the phone screen down towards Harry, who seems to freeze in concentration, before licking Louis twice across the nose. Louis sighs and hits send. “It was the nine hours thing, wasn’t it?” he says. “I knew you’d find that funny.”

Harry’s tail wags a few times, gently.

“Right,” says Louis, watching Harry’s phone light up with twitter notifications for a few moments, before clicking it locked and setting it aside. “We’re officially out of time. Goodbye Louis Tomlinson of One Direction, hello Louis Tomlinson, dog lady extraordinaire.”

Harry nips him sharply on the nose, but Zayn doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“Mm,” he says, settling into the couch and pulling out his phone. “Pretty sure it’s cat lady, Lou.”

“This is why you’re my second favorite,” Louis tells him. “Anyone else would probably be freaking out at this point.”

Harry snuffles into his neck, nosing at the tattoo across his collarbones, and flopping onto his chest with a great sigh.

“Awoo,” says Harry, sorrowfully, looking deeply into Louis’ eyes.

“Ugh,” says Louis, as all of the air is pushed out of his lungs. “Harry. I cannot breathe, love.” The love thing is sort of accidental, because Louis calls everyone love, but Harry’s eyes practically sparkle. Which was all well and good for him to do when he was a 19 year-old human, but as a puppy it’s practically criminal. “Stop that,” Louis tells him. “I’ve yet to live down the way I look at you when you’re you--think of all the grief Zayn will give me if I do it when you’ve got four legs.”

Harry just continues to grin dopely at him and wags his tail.

Louis hates his life.

“I think he’s just trying to reassure you that you’re still his favorite, Tommo,” says Zayn, fingers darting across the screen of his phone.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “You’re texting Niall, aren’t you,” he says. “You bastard.”

Zayn doesn’t even look up at him. “Just be glad he’s too tired to come and see for himself,” he says.

Louis thinks about that. “We could always facetime him,” he points out, more to himself than anything, but Zayn’s eyes light up.

“Yes,” he says, “don’t stop making that face. I’ll call him now.”

“I--what--I am not making a _face_ , Malik I swear to God--” says Louis, shifting on the couch despite the puppy on his chest and feet in his lap. He ends up having to half-hug Harry in the process, who makes the most adorable little noise in protest, and Louis is so very, very, _very_ , fucked--

There’s the flash of Zayn’s camera, the steady beat of Harry’s tail against Louis’ arm, and then nothing.

“If you make that my contact photo--” Louis tries to say.

“This is going to be your everything photo,” Zayn interrupts, completely blasé. “Also, I’ve sent it to your entire family.”

For a long moment, no one makes a sound.

Then, cursedly, Louis is blessed by the chorus of both his and Harry’s phones, blaring out Marimba like nobody’s business.

Louis reaches out and picks up his own phone. “And they say I’m the mischievous one,” he says, softly, hitting the hold button twice.

Zayn doesn’t even look up from his phone, and Harry, bless him, snuffles Louis in the neck a few more times, and goes to sleep. Just--one moment he's awake, and the next he's snoring softly on Louis’ chest. Louis isn’t sure if it’s a dog thing, or if Harry was just that tired.

“That’s,” says Zayn. “That’s actually pretty damn cute.”

“It’s not fair,” says Louis. “Now hush.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I think this could be good for you.”

“You sound like Liam,” says Louis, “and shh.” He risks a long swipe of his hand along Harry’s back.

“No, but really,” Zayn goes on,“when was the last time you actually properly got to spend time together?”

Louis glares at him. “I’m not objecting to the spending time with him,” he says. “It’s the whole spending time with him while he’s a dog, thing, that I have a problem with.”

Zayn looks unperturbed. “Yeah, well, think of it this way,” he says. “You already take care of him, like, all the time.”

Louis opens his mouth to object, but stops when Harry shuffles in his sleep. He shoots Zayn a look and makes a shhing gesture at him.

“Case in point.”

‘Fuck you,’ Louis mouths.

“And, like, he’s like this because of the orange, right?”

Louis nods.

“So you just have to wait till it works its way out of his system. Which can’t be more than a couple hours, yeah? And he’s already been like this for five.”

Louis considers that. “That’s,” he says. “That’s actually brilliant, Zayner.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I do try,” he says.

“No, but actually,” Louis continues, “that makes a lot of sense.” He shoots Harry a quick glance, and shifts a little so that he can poke Zayn in the shin. He presses a tiny kiss to Harry’s head, before doing something of a push up and settling him onto the sofa by Zayn’s feet.“So.”

“So,” Zayn says back.

“Wanna watch the end of Titanic.”

Zayn is quiet for a moment.

“What?” Louis doesn’t look up from where he’s busy tugging the DVD out of a pile and grabbing the TV remote. “Haven’t you ever wondered if dogs can cry?”

“You’re evil, Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn says finally, which isn’t a no, so Louis just grins back and gives a fake bow.

Turns out, Harry as a dog cannot produce tears like humans can, but he also decides that the world is ending if he’s not touching a part of Louis at all times.

So win, win, that.

\--

They do end up facetiming Niall, but mostly because Louis gets bored of watching the clock and ends up sending Zayn into the kitchen in search of dog friendly foods (to speed up the process of getting the orange out of Harry’s system), and they discover that not only is Harry seemingly unable to stop himself from falling for your usual fake throw, but he can also catch things in his mouth from great distances.

Of course, it doesn’t really occur to either of them to mention that the puppy in question is Harry until Niall asks where he came from.

“Oh yeah,” says Louis. He’d fallen on the floor a few minutes ago laughing, and Harry has settled onto his chest again, happily crunching on the most recent handful of crisps he’d caught. “Harry ate an orange and turned into a puppy.”

Niall, naturally, is completely unaffected by the news. “Ah, cool,” he says. “Cause I was worried for a quick sec, since you haven’t stopped smiling for the past five minutes.”

“First of all, it has not been five minutes,” Louis tells him. “And second, I have not been smiling non-stop, thank you.”

“He has,” says Zayn. “I took a photo, you want it?”

“Yep,” says Niall. “Send Payno one, too, yeah?”

“Done,” says Zayn.

“I hate all of you,” says Louis. “I regret ever meeting you.”

“Liar,” Zayn and Niall say at the same time. “Meeting us was the best thing you ever did.”

“It was fate,” says Zayn.

“There’s nothing you’re running from,” adds Niall.

“Like bookends, we are,” continues Zayn.

“We make you strong,” they finish.

Louis makes sure Zayn has enough warning, before he throws Harry at him. Because while it’s worth it for Niall’s shout of shock and Zayn’s squawk of surprise, he doesn’t want to hurt Harry.

\--

Harry turns back within the next hour, which is good, because the album shoot had been creeping closer and closer, and Liam’s panicked texts had been starting to make even Louis panic. They’d decided to take him out into the backyard, hyper aware of the fact that no one knows where they are and that no one can know, when Harry started getting antsy again, but nothing could prepare Louis for this. One moment Harry is a labradoodle puppy in the process of working the orange out of his system, and the next he’s human, naked, and crouching on all fours in the middle of their yard.

Harry blinks, voice coming out more than a little raspy when he manages to say, “Lou?” and practically flings himself into Louis’ arms.

He still looks a bit teary, so Louis refrains from making any terrible jokes, and instead steers him back into the house.

“Hey, Love,” he says, quietly, as Zayn hurries off to fetch Harry clothes. “How are you feeling.”

“My toes hurt,” says Harry, “and I keep trying to wag my tail.”

Louis pauses. “Right,” he says, slowly. “You do know you don’t have a tail--”

“Yes, of course,” Harry snaps, voice a little sharp. But he buries his face even harder into Louis’ neck a few moments later, so Louis figures he’s not all that mad. “It’s like a phantom limb, or something.”

“Makes sense,” Louis tells him, stroking a hand through his curls. It’s a bit of a reach, what with the height difference and how Harry’s practically in his lap standing up, and Louis can finally breathe again. “God, Hazza, you’re taller than me again,” he mutters, not expecting Harry to hear him, let alone reply.

Harry must hear him, though, since he laughs.

“Oi,” Louis tells him. “Don’t tell me your ears still think you’re a dog.”

Harry leans back suddenly and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. “No,” he says. “Your mouth was right by my ear, though.”

Louis blinks, cheeks flushed pink yet again, and has barely enough time to compose himself before Zayn comes back into the kitchen with clothes and hand over his eyes. “I come bearing clothing,” says Zayn. “Please don’t blind me.”

Harry snorts, releasing his grip on Louis with one last, quick peck on the lips, and takes the clothes from Zayn. “Nothing you haven’t seen already,” he points out.

“True.” Zayn cocks a half smile in Louis’ direction. “But then, I wasn’t so much as talking about your dick, Haz, as I was talking about Louis putting it in his mouth.”

There’s a short pause, wherein Louis considers whether or not to high five Zayn, or to throw him out of their house paps be damned.

Harry makes the decision for him, when he lets out a barking (ha) laugh, and proceeds to refuse to put on the pair of boxers Zayn has presented him with for the next five minutes.

\--

“You’re honestly okay?” Louis asks Harry before he gets out of the car for the shoot.

“Yeah, why?” Harry is looking at him with a half smile that says he knows exactly what Louis is thinking, which is ridiculous because Louis doesn’t know what he’s thinking half the time, anyway.

“You’re not, um, still mad at me, are you?” Louis shifts his weight between his feet a few times, awkwardly.

“Louis.” Harry sounds smug. “Of course I’m not mad at you.” He’s definitely grinning. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Oi, I’m not the one who spent the morning hiding in our bathroom, alright?”

“Oh yeah. That.”

“Yes.” Louis finally looks up at him, and he finds Harry refusing to meet his eyes. “Harry?”

“I don’t suppose I can just say I was embarrassed at leave it at that?” says Harry.

Louis blinks. “You were embarrassed?” he repeats. “That, what, I watched you piss in a sink?”

Harry seems to shrink a little, if possible, and Niall sticks his head back into the car to shout at them.

“H, the first time I met you you were pissing--I’m pretty sure it’s our thing, now, honestly.”

Niall’s mouth snaps closed. “Don’t want to know,” he says, before shooting Harry a quick smirk. “That whole besotted, puppy-dog thing was a nice look for you, Harry. Real practice for married life, innit?”

Louis sputters, Harry’s colors slightly, and Niall escapes the car with a boisterous laugh. “Lou wants you for hair, Lou,” he says, snorting at his own little play on words, and only giggling more when Louis flips him off.

“I hate that boy,” he tells Harry. “In fact, please tell me you have more of those oranges?”

Harry blinks, still a little pink in the cheeks, before he grins. “No,” he says. “But they don’t know that, do they?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon between shots offering various members of the crew slices of orange, while Liam, Niall, and Zayn work themselves into a frenzy chasing them down before anyone can take a bite, and Louis thinks to himself that all in all, it really wasn’t the worst thing to have happen.

In fact, it was almost the best.

(He takes that back two hours later, though, when Liam discovers they’ve been lying about the oranges and makes them his own personal birthday slaves.)

\--

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/)! (Also, all mocking of Happily is done in good fun that song is so good for me)
> 
> Puppy Harry is basically [ this dog](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BwP-H0IpQI0/S-VxWCGCL9I/AAAAAAAAJbg/Osn19bYxYhY/s1600/P1040384.JPG).


End file.
